


The Farm Boy and the Princess

by myrlendi (thehistorygeek)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Childhood, Dreams, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24093745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehistorygeek/pseuds/myrlendi
Summary: Leia Organa spends her childhood dreaming of a desert, and a boy with golden hair.Across the galaxy, Luke Skywalker grows up with dreams of a city in the mountains, and a girl dressed in white.In their dreams, at least, they have a childhood together.
Relationships: Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 104





	The Farm Boy and the Princess

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is sort of a combination of AU and headcanon. I like the idea of Luke and Leia dreaming of each other as children, though maybe not _quite_ to this extent, which is where the AU bit comes in. still, I tried to make it so that this fic could fit pretty cleanly into canon. hope you enjoy! :)

The dreams began when she was four years old.

Perhaps they began earlier than that. Perhaps she had been having them all her life, and only started to remember them at four.

They were always the same, in the beginning. She would see a desert, stretching to the horizon and beyond. She had never been to an actual desert before, though she’d seen holos of them. The desert of her dreams was a desolate place, with no signs of life—just endless dunes of sand beneath an endless clear blue sky.

Leia felt very small, standing in the midst of it, but she was never afraid.

There were two suns in this desert’s sky. She hadn’t known that it was possible for a planet to have two suns. They made it very hot; she could feel the heat bearing down on her, scorching her skin. It would linger even after she woke, so that she would have to kick away her blankets until her skin cooled.

The dreams would only last for what felt like minutes. She would stand in the desert, looking out across the expanse of sand and cloudless sky, before gently waking. The dreams only happened perhaps once a week.

She told her father about them, after it happened for the third time.

They were sitting on the palace’s east veranda, eating an early morning breakfast before her father retreated to his office and Leia was sent off to her lessons. Her mother had already been pulled away by urgent business.

“I had a dream last night,” Leia said, picking the berries from her plate. They were coated in sweet, sticky syrup, which she licked from her fingers.

Her father raised his eyebrows. “Oh? What about?”

“I was in a desert. It was _huge,_ and there was sand everywhere. It was super, super hot, because there were two suns. Can that happen, Papa? Can a planet have two suns? Papa?”

A strange look had come over her father’s face, one that Leia had never seen before. It made her feel… uneasy. It took a moment for him to answer. “Oh, um, yes, it is possible.” The look vanished from his face, quickly replaced by a smile. “There are quite a few planets with two suns.”

The smile put her at ease. “That’s cool!”

Bail watched her for a moment, before asking, “Did anything else happen in your dream?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I just stood there for a bit, and then I woke up.”

“Have you had this dream before?”

“A couple times, I think.” She shrugged, and plucked another berry from her plate. “Papa, where do ojaberries come from?”

“These ones are from the Glarus Valley,” Bail replied, absently. There was a crease between his eyebrows. “Leia, will you tell me if you have this dream again? Or if it changes?”

She nodded, barely paying attention. “Okay,” she said. She popped the ojaberry into her mouth, before picking another berry from her plate. She held up the sticky blue fruit, the dream apparently forgotten. “What about dewberries?” she asked. “Where do they come from?”

☽ ☾

Around the same time, across the galaxy, a little boy, exactly Leia’s age, began to have strange dreams of his own.

But instead of a desert, he dreamt of a city nestled in the mountains. Its buildings were tall and slender, and seemed to be made of silver. They would shine in the light of the planet’s single sun, peeking over the mountaintops. He had never seen mountains like these before; they were tall and craggy, covered in snow.

Luke had never seen snow before.

He stood atop one of these mountains, looking down at the city, and though he was very, very high up, he wasn’t afraid. There was a lake beside the city, its waters deep and blue. He had never seen this much water before, either.

The wind that whipped past him was cold, making him shiver; he would still be cold when he woke. He would burrow deeper under his blankets until he warmed, and sleep took him again. The dream came to him regularly, perhaps every week or so, though he did little in them but stand atop the mountain and look down at the city.

He told his aunt and uncle about the dreams one day at breakfast, after he had once again woken up shivering, with visions of a silver city still vivid in his mind. They listened, with the partial interest that adults often showed, and commented on how lovely it sounded. But they voiced no worries or concerns.

Every night, before he fell asleep, Luke hoped that he would dream of the mountains, and the beautiful city below.

☽ ☾

The dreams continued, more or less the same, for the next year—Leia would stand in the desert, alone, and then she would awake.

Shortly after her fifth birthday, they changed.

She fell asleep, and found herself standing in the same desert, the endless dunes surrounding her. And then, she began to walk.

Her feet moved effortlessly across the sand; in an instant, she had crossed over a dozen dunes. She watched the desert move around her, felt the warm wind brushing her face, until the sand ended and she stood on a strange, flat plain. The ground beneath her feet was hard and white, its surface cracked for lack of moisture.

There was a small, round hut in front of her, made of dusty white stone. Strange machines dotted the plain, stretching high into the sky.

A boy stood just outside the entrance to the hut. He looked to be about her age. He wore a loose long-sleeved white shirt, belted at the waist, with a floppy-brimmed hat perched on his head. Leia wondered if she should have a hat, too; it seemed like a good idea, with the two suns beating down on them.

The boy watched her approach, as if he had been waiting for her. 

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” he replied. “Who are you?”

“I’m Leia. Who are you?”

He told her his name. In her dream, Leia heard and understood it, but later, when she would try to recall what he had said, she would find that she no longer remembered, as if it had been erased from her memory. 

“Do you live here?” she asked, and he nodded.

“This is our farm.”

Leia cast a glance around, but could see nothing but desert and strange machines. “Do you have animals? Or plants?”

“We have a little garden, but no animals.”

“Oh. Well, what do you farm here, then?”

“We make water,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Water?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “How do you _make_ water?”

“With the moisture vap’rators,” he said, gesturing to the nearest machine. “I help Uncle Owen collect the water sometimes.”

“That’s weird,” Leia said, but the boy just shrugged.

“How old are you?” he asked, segueing immediately into a new conversation.

“I’m five.”

“Oh, me too!”

Leia smiled. “That’s cool. We’re the same age!”

The boy smiled back, and Leia saw that he was missing one of his bottom front teeth. She felt jealous; she hadn’t lost any of her baby teeth, yet.

“I like you,” the boy said. “Do you want to be my friend?”

Leia nodded. She didn’t have many friends. “Okay. What should we do?”

“We can play! Don’t worry; I have enough toys for both of us.”

“Okay.” She wondered what kind of toys he would have.

The boy glanced back towards the hut, as if hearing someone calling for him, though Leia didn’t hear anything. “Oh, I have to go,” he said, regret in his voice. “I hope you’ll come back!”

Leia smiled again, and nodded. “Me too.”

And then she woke up.

☽ ☾

She told her father about the dream that morning. The strange look came over his face again, and he knelt down in front of her, so that they were eye-to-eye.

“You saw a boy?” he asked, and she nodded. “Did he tell you his name?”

“Mm, I think so, but I can’t remember.” Now that she thought about it, she could remember very little about what the boy himself had looked like. He had been so clear in her dream, but now all she could remember were the tufts of golden hair that had been peeking out from underneath his floppy hat. “He had a hat,” she said, “which was a good idea, because it was really hot. I hope I get a hat, too, next time.”

“Will you tell me again, if there is a next time?” her father asked, and the seriousness in his voice frightened her. She nodded, bottom lip between her teeth, and he smiled. The worried look went away, which made her feel better. “Okay,” he said.

He stood, and lifted her with him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and felt even better. “Now,” Papa said, “why don’t we go have breakfast? Mama’s waiting for us.”

☽ ☾

Luke thought about the girl often, over the next few days. In his dream, he had been standing outside the house, waiting for something. He hadn’t known what he was waiting for—until she had arrived, and he realized he had been waiting for her. When he woke up, he hadn’t been able to remember her name, or what she had looked like; all he remembered was that she had been wearing a white dress.

She reminded him of the silver city in the mountains.

He dreamt of the mountains again, about a week after his dream of the girl. He stood atop the mountain, as usual, looking down at the city—and then began walking down towards it. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, carrying him down the mountain. Within seconds, he was in the city, moving amongst the silver buildings, towering high above him.

And then he was on a balcony, looking out once more at the mountains and the lake, much closer here than from atop the mountain.

The girl was there, sitting on a bench, as if waiting for him.

Seeing her again, he immediately remembered her name. Her hair was done up in a simple braid, and, like last time, she wore a white dress. It came down to just below her knees, with long sleeves. A white sash had been tied around her waist.

“Hello,” he said, and she smiled.

“You’re back.”

He nodded, and went to the bench, sitting on his knees, with his arms resting on the balustrade, so that he could look out at the view. “Do you live here?” he asked, and the girl nodded. “Is it real?”

The girl frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t think anywhere like this actually existed,” he explained. “Do you really live here?”

“Of course I do! Where else would I live?”

“Wow.” He rested his chin on his hands. “I wish I lived here, too. It’s so pretty.”

“Do you really live in the desert?” she asked, and he nodded. “Why?”

Luke shrugged. “It’s where our farm is.” He pushed away from the balustrade, turning to look up at the building looming behind them. It was one of the biggest buildings he’d ever seen. “Is this your house?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“The whole thing?!”

She nodded. “Mhm.”

“That’s crazy! It’s _huge_!”

“We don’t use a lot of it,” she said, “but it’s fun to go exploring in.”

“Can _we_ go exploring?” Luke asked, jumping up from the bench.

She smiled. “Okay.”

They roamed through the halls for what felt like hours, exploring vast rooms and hidden passageways. The girl had already been just about everywhere in the building (she said it was a _palace_ , which only served to make Luke more awed), so she was able to show him the coolest things. They never saw anyone else in all their adventuring, though Luke hardly noticed—he was having far too much fun.

He was sad when it ended, and he woke up.

☽ ☾

To his relief, the dreams continued. Not every night, nor even every week, but perhaps once or twice a month, he would see the girl from the mountain city. Some nights, she would visit him on Tatooine; others, he would go to her, in her great palace in the mountains. He always enjoyed those dreams more.

They would talk. He told her of his chores, and she told him of her lessons. She was a princess, he learned, and that seemed to mean she had many, many lessons. She was to be queen one day, she said, and so she had to be prepared. The lessons still sounded quite boring to Luke, and she admitted that she found them boring, as well.

They would explore the palace, when his dreams took him to the mountains, and play endless games in its labyrinthine halls. Their favourite room to play in was the grand ballroom. The central part of the room, which acted as the dancefloor, was lower than the rest, accessible by grand marble staircases at either end. They would race each other across the dancefloor, and slide with glee down the banisters of the staircases.

They would play on Tatooine, too. As promised, Luke shared his toys with her, and was always excited to show her his newest additions, on the rare occasions that he got a new toy. As a princess, he figured she must have a great many toys, but she always seemed interested in his models and action figures.

Their lives couldn’t have been more different, but they found companionship with each other.

He knew they were just dreams. When they were happening, they seemed real enough, as all dreams did, but once he woke, he knew it had all just been in his mind. The girl from the mountains, with her towering palace, wasn’t real. She couldn’t be.

Aunt Beru said he had an overactive imagination. Luke figured she thought he was making it all up, creating a sort of imaginary friend for himself; she kept pushing for him to spend more time with Biggs and the other boys. Uncle Owen said he should spend more time focusing on his chores and less time on daydreams of make-believe princesses.

Eventually, he stopped talking to either of them about the dreams.

☽ ☾

Leia was ten and a half. She had recently started learning to ride a fathier, which she enjoyed much more than the etiquette and history lessons she had previously been subjected to (though those, unfortunately, continued). But she was a good princess, and she played her part, when she had to.

She still dreamt of the boy from the desert.

In her dreams, she always knew his name, and the details of his face were familiar to her. But once she woke, his name was forgotten, and his features became blurred—save for his golden hair. She always remembered his hair. But in her waking mind, he was simply the boy from the desert.

She knew they were just dreams, that the boy was nothing more than a figment of her imagination; a companion, created for her by her own mind. She was an only child, after all, and being a princess, she had few peers with whom to make friends. Naturally, she sometimes grew lonely.

She had stopped telling her father about the dreams when she was nine. They had worried him, and she felt embarrassed to still have what was essentially an imaginary friend. Easier for them both if she lied and said they had stopped. Papa seemed less worried now, thinking that.

Sometimes, the boy would come to her on Alderaan. Other times, she would go to him in the desert. She always enjoyed those dreams more; it gave her a chance to imagine a life beyond her own.

She didn’t hate being a princess—she was unbelievably lucky, she knew, especially compared to most beings in the galaxy. But she hated the expectations placed upon her. Once in a while, it was nice to imagine a life without those expectations, without the shadow of a crown hanging over her head.

Her dreams had taken her to the desert again. As usual, the boy was waiting for her outside his house. He still had the same floppy hat as when he had first appeared in her dreams. He came towards her, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the house’s entrance.

“Come on!” he said, a wide smile on his face. “I got a new model and you _gotta_ see it.”

He led her down the stairs into his subterranean home. He said that he lived with his aunt and uncle, but Leia had never seen either of them. The house was small, with all of the rooms laid out around a circular courtyard. To get to the boy’s room, you had to go down the stairs from the entrance hut to the courtyard, through a doorway, and then up another set of stairs. His was the highest room in the house, closer to the surface than all the others. None of the rooms had windows; they were deep underground, to keep out the desert heat.

His room was small and simple. He had a bed, a dresser, and a desk, covered in the clutter of half-disassembled electronic devices. Models of spaceships were strewn across the room, and he went to collect one from atop the dresser, holding it out to her with pride.

“It’s a T-16 skyhopper,” he said. “It’s the kind of ship I wanna get, when I’m old enough to fly.”

He talked often about learning to fly. Leia, personally, had never had much interest in flying, or in model ships, but he liked it, and so she listened when he talked. She didn’t know if any of the information he regurgitated about different ship types and engines and repulsorlifts was actually true, but he certainly said it all with a great deal of conviction.

“That’s cool,” she said, taking the model when he offered it. It was a rather simple ship design: three wings, one on top and two on the sides, angled down, with a triangular cockpit. It was the sort of ship that was never meant to leave the atmosphere.

They talked for a while, about ships and flying, and then Leia told him about learning to ride. He had never seen a fathier before, so she told him all about them, and the steeplechase races that she hoped to one day participate in.

“They’re huge,” she said, “and some of the fastest animals in the galaxy. They have big, long ears and short snouts, and their feet are hooves, so they make a clip-clop noise when they walk on stone.”

He listened to her description with rapt attention. As she went on to talk about steeplechase, he watched her, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows. When she paused to catch her breath, he asked, quite suddenly, “Are you real?”

The question made her pause. It’s not what she had expected. “Of course I’m real,” she said. “Are _you_ real?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He was frowning slightly.

They stared at each other for a moment. Why would this boy, a figment of her dreams, ask her if she was real? For a split second, she wondered if she was, somehow, talking to a real boy, living somewhere out there in the galaxy. But that couldn’t be possible.

Could it?

She opened her mouth, hoping to ask more, but instead found herself suddenly back in her own bed, awake, with the morning light streaming in through her window. Within seconds, the details of the dream faded from her mind, and she forgot what she had wanted to ask.

☽ ☾

As Luke grew older, the dreams became less frequent. They went from twice a month, to once every two months, to every three months, to every four. By the time he was sixteen, they were happening only twice a year. By then, they had long since stopped being a curiosity, and were merely a regular facet of his life. Outside those biannual occurrences, however, he didn’t think often of the girl from the mountains.

They no longer played together during their infrequent visits. Mostly, they talked. Luke told her about learning to fly and getting a T-16; racing in Beggar’s Canyon with his friends; his frustrations with his uncle, and his need to get off Tatooine.

The girl, apparently, had developed a taste for politics. She talked about being a junior legislator in the Imperial Senate, and of joining the Apprentice Legislature. She was preparing for her Day of Demand—a tradition of her planet, when she would be invested as heir to the throne.

She also told him—in a hushed voice, as if they might be overheard—about a rebellion against the Empire, started by her father. Luke had heard whispers of such a thing, but never in such detail. It seemed as if her parents were finally going to allow her to join in their efforts.

Luke felt as if his own life was quite boring compared to hers. His days were full of chores and, occasionally, hanging out with friends; hers were full of adventures and intrigue, politics and missions across the galaxy. It’s as if his own mind was taunting him with a life he could never have.

But still, he looked forward to the dreams, if only because they offered the briefest reprieve from a life of drudgery.

☽ ☾

The last time Luke dreamt of the girl, he was nineteen.

The dreams were still happening only about twice a year. The last time he had seen her, the girl had talked about her induction as a Senator in the Imperial Senate. From the way she spoke, Luke could tell that she held a great dislike for the Senate, but she said that she stayed for the valuable intel it provided her, which could then be passed on to the blossoming Rebel Alliance.

Change was coming, she had told him. She could feel it.

Whatever it was, Luke didn’t feel it. If anything, he felt as if his life was static, destined to remain the same forever. Whenever he spoke to her, he couldn’t help but feel as if the galaxy was moving on without him. 

As if to cement that fact, the final dream took place on Tatooine.

Years later, he would remember much of it, as clearly as if it had happened the night before—not because it was the last, but because of the argument they had had. 

The girl found him waiting for her outside the house, as usual. She still only ever wore white; this time, she wore a jumpsuit, with wide legs and a metal belt. Standing there, looking at her, he could remember every iteration of her throughout the years, as they had grown together. She had been his constant companion throughout the past fourteen years. In a strange way, she was one of his oldest and closest friends.

She took one look at his face, and asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

He must look as wretched as he felt. “Biggs has left for the Academy,” he said. “Who knows when he’ll be back. Never, if he has any sense.”

Kicking dejectedly at the dirt, he wandered past her over to the edge of the courtyard, slumping down into the sand with a sigh. She sat down beside him, not seeming to care if the dirt stained her white jumpsuit.

“Uncle Owen promised me again that I could submit my application when the season’s done,” Luke said, “but I’m sure he’ll come up with another excuse for me not to.” Uncle Owen had already made and rescinded that same promise twice; always it was because he was supposedly still needed on the farm. Luke suspected he would always be needed on the farm.

“Why do you want to go to the Academy, anyways?” the girl asked, frowning. “Do you really want to join the _Empire_?”

He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin atop them, frowning. “No. But it’s the only way I can get off this rock.”

“Surely there must be another way! Couldn’t you get a job on a ship or something?”

He let out a dry laugh. “No one wants some farm boy who’s never left the planet working on their ship. Besides, the only ships here are ones doing jobs for gangsters.”

“So you won’t work for a gangster, but you’ll work for the Empire?”

“It’s complicated, okay? I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

She let out a scoff. “I understand well enough. You say you hate the Empire, but as soon as hating them inconveniences you, it doesn’t matter anymore. As long as it gets you what you want.”

He threw his hands up and stood. They were both silent, Luke looking off at the horizon. After a moment, he turned to look back down at her. “Unfortunately,” he said, “not all of us are privileged enough to be able to do something about the Empire. If I want to get off this rock—if I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as a moisture farmer—my only option is the Academy.”

“There’s always another option,” she said.

He shook his head. “Not here. There’s nothing here.”

“That can’t be true. There has to be another way.”

“You have no idea what it’s like! I have no money; my family has no money. I can’t _afford_ to just up and leave, to go do whatever I want. The _only_ way for me to get out—for my aunt and uncle to even consider letting me leave—is with the Academy. Even though that means joining the Empire.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re not all as lucky as you.”

She stared at him for a moment, before letting out a sigh and standing.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right; I don’t fully understand.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “I don’t like it any more than you. But it’s what I have to do.”

She nodded, and the hugged him. They had hugged before, as children, but it had been many years since then. Luke was surprised by how small she was; her head came only to his chest. He hugged her back, and when they separated, a moment or two later, there was a smile on his face.

She smiled back, and Luke woke in his bed. The chronometer beside his bed told him that it was nearly dawn—about time for him to get up, to go out and work the vaporators. Though the girl’s name and face, as always, had faded from his memory as consciousness retook him, he still remembered her smile.

☽ ☾

Luke Skywalker didn’t recognize Leia Organa when her image was projected onto the floor of his uncle’s garage, asking for help.

Leia Organa didn’t recognize Luke Skywalker when he burst into her cell on the Death Star, proclaiming to be there to rescue her.

They didn’t recognize each other, though they had been dreaming of each other for most of their lives. But neither had ever remembered the name of the other, nor the details of their face. Luke only ever remembered a girl dressed in white; Leia, a boy with golden hair. His mind drew no connection between the girl from the mountains and the princess in white; hers saw no relationship between the boy from the desert and the blond-haired youth who had rescued her.

After all, they had only been dreams.

It was several months after the Battle of Yavin when Luke realized he hadn’t dreamt of the mountain princess in nearly a year. He wondered why—perhaps the dreams had only ever functioned to give him the glimpse of the wider galaxy that he had so desperately craved. Now that he had it, the dreams were no longer necessary.

Beside him in the _Millennium Falcon_ , or down the hall at the Rebel base, Leia would often wonder the same thing about the boy from the desert, and why he had vanished from her dreams—perhaps the dreams had been tethered to Alderaan, to her childhood, and with its destruction, they had ended.

Strangely (or perhaps not), both found that they didn’t miss the dreams.

☽ ☾

When Leia stood on Tatooine, preparing to go rescue Han from Jabba the Hutt, she stared up at the two suns blazing in the desert sky and thought, briefly, of the desert from her dreams. It had been years now since she had dreamt of it, and many of the details were becoming blurry. She didn’t consider the possibility that she had been dreaming of Tatooine for all those years. She had never known of its existence, until her father had sent her there to retrieve Obi-Wan Kenobi.

And they had only been dreams—hadn’t they?

It was a few days later, in the aftermath of the Battle of Endor, that she finally realized they had actually been much, much more.

☽ ☾

The Death Star II had been destroyed. Emperor Palpatine was dead. Darth Vader—her biological father—was dead.

Luke—her brother—had survived.

He had revealed their familial connection to her just the night before. She hadn’t been surprised; it was a truth that rang in her very bones. He had taken off almost immediately after, determined to save his—their—father. Leia had watched him go, worried that she would never see him again—that she would lose more family—and had found comfort in Han’s arms.

But there had been little time to dwell on it—there had been work to do, and she had done it.

And Luke had survived and come back to her. The entire Rebellion, it seemed, had crammed itself into the Ewok village, celebrating the near-end of the Empire. Luke appeared quite suddenly in the midst of it all, weaving between dancing Ewoks and drunk pilots.

Leia spotted him first, catching his eye through the crowd, and he smiled back at her—and she realized.

He was the boy with golden hair, from the desert world with twin suns. Her constant companion throughout the years of her childhood and adolescence. Not a creation of her dreams after all, but the manifestation of her brother—her twin—reaching out to her across the space that separated them.

And she had reached back.

He realized it at the same time she did, tears filling his eyes as he looked at her. The princess in white, from the silver city in the mountains. His sister.

His made his way through the crowd to her, and she practically ran to meet him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close.

“It was you,” she whispered, loud enough only for him to hear. “Of course it was you—the boy from the desert.”

He smiled, and whispered back, “The girl from the mountains.”

The Force had not always been kind to them. It had given them a cruel start to life, with many injustices and blows inflicted since. But it had at least given them this one kindness—that of a childhood together.


End file.
